Tentatively, as though he would be sparked by electricity if he touched it, Argrave raised his hand up to the golden scales of Vasquer. His fingers met her scales. The feeling was nearly identical to touching cold metal. He could practically feel her presence rushing into his hand like water running through a hose after the nozzle was turned.
Argrave did not like interacting with Vasquer, admittedly. His mind had always been his temple—all anyone else could see of him was only what he showed them—his words and deeds could be adjusted as he wanted. In a way, his mind was the only thing he viewed as his. His body, his clothes, his mannerisms… they were borrowed, and could be changed. That feeling had faded over the months he’d grown more connected to Berendar, but he still valued the privacy of his mind. And that privacy was being violated.
In terms of invasions, Vasquer was quite a polite invader. She acknowledged that he was uncomfortable by the act and did nothing sudden or jarring to stimulate that feeling of unease. Argrave took some time to acclimate to the feeling, steadying his breathing. He felt Anneliese grip his hand. He hadn’t known how much that would help until she did it—it felt like an anchor to the world, something keeping him grounded in this bizarre mysticism.
Argrave first addressed his largest concern—he inquired Vasquer’s thoughts on his ownership of this body despite not being the original soul belonging to it. This thought of his echoed out to the branch of consciousness extended to him.
Vasquer barraged him with her philosophy on the matter. For her, the origin of the soul was less important than the body. The soul is, after all, a cumulation of experiences, thoughts, memories—in essence, it made no difference to her the origin of the soul, as she had never known the original owner. Argrave supposed it was a reasonable stance to take. He questioned if she viewed him as a thief, yet she merely reminded him she could see him as he truly was and knew him to be as much as victim of circumstance as the old Argrave was.
Argrave sent his worry at how much Vasquer could see, fully exposing his feelings of his sanctity being violated. In response, a wave of reassurance and panic came. Vasquer could not see all of his thoughts laid bare—she received things he sent consciously, or things he wanted her to know subconsciously. This process revolved around the soul, and consequently, she had great insight on the makeup of all souls she saw in general. To see the process laid out was immensely reassuring, and Argrave finally found some measure of relaxation.
With the process codified, Argrave comfortably expressed his curiosity about her knowledge of his affinity with death. For the first time in a while, the constant flow of thoughts stopped. The branch of consciousness seemed to wriggle and worm. Argrave grew anxious, yet before he could express that his answer finally came.
Argrave was shown a scene—one person viewed through Vasquer’s senses. To view life through her perspective was wildly jarring. He saw fewer colors, and light was difficult to distinguish. Sounds, meanwhile, were vastly enhanced, and he could feel vibrations in the ground. Smells were so potent as to be offensive. And this person before her…
Vasquer’s mind guided him towards a particular spot of the image she displayed: the soul. It was a nebulous thing permeating the body, and Argrave thought it was reminiscent of the way magic existed in a strange, almost mist-like state beneath the skin. The soul Argrave saw was golden and shining. In contrast, Argrave was shown another’s soul. It was still gold, though shone not half as bright as the former’s. Then, lastly, Argrave saw himself and his own soul. As the first, his shone brilliantly.
Memories not Argrave’s own flashed through his mind. This bright-souled person was once close to Vasquer, and their journey passed by like Argrave was recounting things that he’d done. And at the end of it all… the man changed. He was human no longer—he was immortal, bound to a vessel and possessing various bodies of his choosing. He was a lich, Argrave recognized. He had continued to collaborate with Vasquer long after becoming immortal, yet at Gerechtigkeit’s advent, his lich form was vulnerable to influence. He became corrupted and fought on the side of the calamity.
Like this, the memories ended. Argrave found he was crying and wiped away his tears in shock. He didn’t feel sad, and even now the tears ceased. It appeared this method of conveyance was not without side effects. Argrave searched for the meaning in what he’d been shown, and Vasquer sent another image to elaborate.
A tall, obsidian-haired man with stony gray eyes held a corpse. Vasquer’s memory influenced him, and he knew at once the man’s name: Felipe. The corpse he held was the bright-souled man.
“Braulio was a man who had a gift. He was one for whom death was not an end.” Felipe lifted his head to Vasquer. “Yet he turned it to a curse. An accident of grave proportions…”
As the final memory settled into his mind, everything clicked into place. Argrave, just as Braulio, possessed a different kind of soul.
He was one for whom death was not an end.
What did this mean? Argrave recalled the term from ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ His soul was resilient, persistent. If he was stabbed through the heart and perished, he might become a specter of some kind. Or, just as Braulio, he could become a lich if he underwent the proper ritual. In terms of necromancy, his soul was a hot commodity about as valuable as red diamonds.
In-game lore dictated it was an incredibly rare thing that no playable character possessed. It wasn’t decided by strength of will, or presence of mind—indeed, it was solely dumb luck… or poor luck, depending on how one looked at it. For Argrave, it only led him towards one question.
Was that why he was here?
Argrave relayed everything to Vasquer—how he’d come to be here, what he experienced before. It was the first time he’d shared his previous life with anyone beyond his inner circle, but what was Vasquer going to do? Tell Elenore? That’d just save him a conversation. If anything, it was a boon.
It truly was throwing caution to the wind—a last-ditch effort to see if anything more might be learned. Argrave felt the ground stir beneath his feet, and heard Anneliese call his name. He opened his eyes to see Vasquer writhing somewhat, yet the great rings of metal holding her down kept secure.
Though her reaction was visceral and obvious, it came repeated to Argrave a few seconds afterwards through their link. The revelation of a potential other dimension entirely, wherein their current reality was one simulated rather than simply existing, was no less of a shock to the gargantuan feathered serpent than it was any other person. Vasquer expressed much the same stupefaction that Durran, Galamon, or Anneliese had. Though Vasquer was thousands of years old, never before had she encountered such a thing.
Argrave asked his true question, perhaps already knowing the answer. Did she know why he was here?
The answer was as he expected. No, naturally—she had not a single clue as to why he was here, how he had come to be here, or if there was even any purpose to it at all. Though hypotheses persisted about his unique soul for which death was not end the end, in the end, they were only guesses to fill the void of ignorance.
After all, Vasquer posited such a thing as taking a soul from one dimension and putting it in another would be the realm of the gods. The why and how of things was unknown, perhaps unknowable.
Argrave sighed, getting the answer he expected. Though he had feared finding the truth, it was just as disappointing to step away empty-handed. It seemed he would be moving forward with more questions than before.
One more matter remained. Argrave was certain Elenore would come and speak to Vasquer first thing in the morning—as he recalled, she was obsessed with the snake. Perhaps she saw something of herself in the creature. Both had been betrayed by their blood and confined powerlessly.
Argrave expressed a simple desire to Vasquer. He hoped the snake could accept some of his thoughts as a parcel of sorts and convey it to Elenore. He had no desire to obscure the truth from his newly found sister. It might simply be easier if Argrave could once again use Vasquer to convey his honest intents.
Expressing sympathy for his situation, Vasquer sent forth a wave of affirmation. An image flashed in his head: both Elenore and Argrave faced the darkness together, side by side. Argrave understood what Vasquer was trying to convey—she wished for the two of them, brother and sister, to cooperate in the coming years. It was a genuine reassurance that wiped away much of Argrave’s unease.
After a long while of deliberating what to leave for Elenore to parse through, he left memories and knowledge he felt would best explain things. Argrave said his goodbyes and pulled his hand away. The bizarre sensation of interconnected consciousnesses faded, and Argrave found that the whole world seemed to be spinning. He clutched at his head with one hand, and Anneliese steadied him.
“Be careful, now. You emit heat as a furnace might,” Anneliese said worriedly.
Argrave realized she was right—his whole body felt hot. “I feel fine,” he assured her, the dizziness fading with every passing second.
“What did you learn?” she asked him.
“I don’t…” Argrave blinked. “I’m not sure. Something new to pursue in the future, maybe. The vaguest hint of a lead. My soul is… one for which death is not an end.” Argrave shook his head. “I need to sort through my thoughts. Let’s return.”
